


the sea pronounces something

by legendarydesvender (svensationalist)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svensationalist/pseuds/legendarydesvender
Summary: “You’re the best we have.”“Shiro was the best and we all know what happened to him.”“That’s the thing, Kogane — wedon’tknow what happened to him, or the Holts, or anyone else who went in there and never returned.  There is a good chance you won’t make it back either.  But if you don’t give a damn about that, the mission details are in here.”Keith shrugs.  “Well, I’ve got nothing left to lose.”***AU where Keith is a sailor and Lance is the siren trying to drown him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Made it just in time before Season 2! Sort of. Cutting it a bit close...
> 
> Dedicated to the voltronofcolor discord group for inspiring me to write this a while back, especially Maddie and Dri. Special thanks to Meagan and Sarah for all the feedback and for being great writing buddies that motivated me by working hard on their own fics. And lots of love to Combo for being my beta reader; your comments were super helpful and hilarious.
> 
> Content warnings: Unsurprisingly, drowning is mentioned very, very often. Profanity because I curse like a sailor (haha). Minor cannibalism joke (does it count if they’re different species?) Implied depression. Severe mood whiplash. And memes.

 

_The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out. But God knows I have tried._

(Annie Dillard)

 

* * *

 

They say the ocean contains more mysteries than outer space.

 

Keith doesn’t know who ‘they’ are or whether they’re right, because frankly, he doesn’t give a shit.  He lost his appetite for exploration years ago when Shiro and the rest of his team went missing.  Right now, the ocean is a source of income for Keith, and that’s about as far as his relationship with it goes: strictly business.  It’s hard to care about the mysteries under the waves or the mysteries beyond the atmosphere, when the only question Keith finds himself asking is “Why did my brother have to disappear?”

 

The news called the ocean surrounding Arus a new Bermuda Triangle.  Ships that got close never came back unharmed, no matter how technologically advanced they were.   _The Cerberus_ , Shiro’s ship, was the first one to vanish entirely; then the vessels sent to search and rescue came back malfunctioning and empty-handed; then many curious thrillseekers and researchers nearly died in shipwrecks; until the Garrison finally declared that the area was restricted without military clearance.  

 

It becomes a modern day myth.   _Maybe it’s a gate to Hell,_  people whisper.   _Isn’t Cerberus the hound who stands guard at the entrance to the underworld?_

 

Unknown to the general public, the Garrison is still interested in exploring Arus despite the increasing number of missing persons.  They send drones and other unmanned craft with no satisfying results.  Whatever is out there can’t be found with only machines.

 

“So you want me to go to there alone?”  Keith folds his arms, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.  “I knew you didn’t like me, Commander, but I didn’t think you wanted me _dead_.”

 

Iverson doesn’t roll his eye, but he probably wishes he could get away with it.  “I don’t want you dead, I want you to sail our latest model solo because you’re the only one who _can_.  You’re the best we have.”

 

“Shiro was the best,” Keith says dryly, “and we all know what happened to him.”

 

“That’s the thing, Kogane — we _don’t_ know what happened to him, or the Holts, or anyone else who went in there and never returned.”  Iverson places a small tablet on his desk within Keith’s reach.  “I won’t lie to you, you’re not stupid enough to fall for promises of glory or guaranteed success.  There is a good chance you won’t make it back either.  But if you don’t give a damn about that, the mission details are in here.”

 

Keith shrugs.  “Well, I’ve got nothing left to lose,” he says honestly, and he grabs the debrief with steady hands.

 

* * *

 

(Static.)

 

 _‘...tific expedition to the Arus Islands is missing, and all crew members of_ The Cerberus _are believed to be_ **_dead_ ** _at this time.  The Garrison has said that the disappearance was presumably caused by navigational error.  It is, indeed, a sad day for all humanity, especially for the families and friends of Captain Takashi_ **_Shiro_** _gane, Dr. Samuel Holt, and Dr. Matthew Holt.  The Garrison is planning an investig —’_

 

(Silence.

 

The radio stays off.)

 

* * *

 

Keith notices too late that something is wrong when the ship's navigation flickers and dies.

 

Everything is unnaturally quiet; the constant low thrum of the engine sounds muted, and the occasional noise from the bridge’s control panels are absent. Keith curses under his breath, trying to remember when most of the ship started slowly shutting down.  None of the warning alarms were set off, but he realizes that it's because they stopped working too.

 

There's a dense fog starting to blanket his part of the ocean and he grimaces.  The last thing he remembers seeing on the map is that he was getting close to Arus, and he doesn't want to get killed before he even arrives.  It's too risky to continue at his current speed without the ship functioning properly or knowing what's waiting for him out there.  It could be coastal fog for all he knows, and he doesn’t want to find out for certain by crashing his ship into a cliff.  

 

On the other hand, if he cuts the engine to repair his ship, how can he guarantee that it will start again?  After some thought, he decides to take his chances; he stops the ship and lowers the anchor.  The eerie silence feels even more pronounced without the engine running.  He shivers and he’s not sure if it’s from the sudden chill or if it’s from a sense of dread.   _It’s nothing_ , he tells himself, ignoring the instinct to leave in favour of tinkering with the helm.

 

‘Nothing’ appears to be the theme because it’s what he finds when trying to figure out what’s wrong.  Nothing is broken, nothing looks unusual, nothing _explains_ why he’s now a sitting duck in the middle of the ocean.  Frustrated, he storms out of the bridge to go onto the deck.  Fresh air might help.

 

But the moment he steps outside, he hears something quiet coming from the thick fog.  It tugs at the back of his mind, like the feeling when you’re not sure if you turned off the stove or locked the doors before leaving the house.  A persistent dull nag, a regret made vivid through hindsight. _You forgot something_.   _You forgot me_.

 

It sounds like a song, Keith realizes. A fragment of a melody that you think you've heard before, maybe on a radio somewhere long ago, with a name you didn’t catch and lyrics that escaped you so you never found it again.  You want to listen to it over and over to commit it to memory, but when you try to sing along it slips away from you and you're left reaching and chasing after the sense of familiarity.  It's a song that leaves you bereft and yearning because you remember it was important to you but you've forgotten the reason why.

 

It's so, so easy to just stop and listen raptly to the lilting notes, nebulous and ethereal as the fog they’re drifting through.  The singer’s voice is sweet and rich, disarming in its sincerity. There’s a vague impression of whispered words even though Keith doesn’t remember hearing any.  Somehow, he almost believes that he’s like the song itself — beautiful, captivating, and worth being the subject of intense longing.

 

Keith thinks it’s the most convincing lie he’s ever heard in his life.

 

 _Stay with me_ , it seems to say.

 

 _How about no_ , Keith thinks, cautiously moving to the ship's prow with one hand resting on the knife he always carries.  It's not like he knows how to stay still anyway, even if he were to agree with the voice’s request.  His life has been unrelenting motion for as long as he can remember: moving in, moving out, and always, always moving on.  If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that nothing ever lasts; good things may wash up on shore, but the tide inevitably recedes.

 

 _There’s something wrong_.  Keith repeats it to himself so he doesn’t forget.  He clings onto the sense of wrongness like it’s a lighthouse preventing him from crashing against hidden cliffs.  It almost feels like being in a dream: everything feels real until you examine it too closely and it falls apart at the seams.  The music isn’t surrounding him like he originally thought, and he moves closer to the source, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly looks over the railing.   _There’s something wrong.  There’s something wrong. There’s..._

 

… a singing naked man in the ocean.

 

“What the fuck,” Keith says.

 

The song abruptly stops.  “I think you mean ‘what _a_ fuck’,” Naked Man says flirtatiously, throwing in a quick wink just in case his meaning wasn't clear enough.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Keith says again, both for emphasis and because he can't think of anything else to say.  This bizarre scenario wasn't in the extensive Garrison training manual.

 

“Speechless? Understandable.” Naked Man sighs dramatically and stretches and — yep, if Keith wasn't sure he was naked before, he's definitely sure now.  “It's impossible to fully describe how handsome I am with words.  But I, Lance, am a very generous soul, so you can take all the time you want coming up with something to say while you swim with me.”

 

Keith feels obligated to repeat himself out of principle now.  “ _What_ the _fuck_.”

 

Even though the third time should be the charm, Lance tilts his head as if Keith’s answer was unexpected.  “Do you want to come swim with me?” he enunciates slowly, patting the water next to him as an invitation. Somehow that action makes everything seem even more outlandish than before.

 

Food poisoning, Keith decides. He must be hallucinating from food poisoning.  Can't trust those Garrison peas.  “Right,” he mutters to himself, trying to shake the memory of Lance’s voice out of his head.  He starts backing away from the railing. “That's enough imaginary bullshit for today.”

 

“No no no wait!”  Lance is _sulking_.  “I promise I’m not imaginary, I’m real!”

 

“Fine.”  Keith keeps moving away anyways.  “I’ll humour you.  If you’re real, wait there.”  He takes his hand off his knife and reaches for something else.

 

Lance isn’t visible anymore, but it’s safe to assume that he winks again.  “Sure thing, handso—”  He yelps when a life preserver sails through the air and hits him in the head.  “What’s your problem?!”

 

“Sorry,” Keith says dryly, not sounding very sorry at all.  “I just figured that if _I_ wasn’t hallucinating your existence, then you must be the one hallucinating.”  He shakes the rope in his hands.  “Grab on already, I’m rescuing you.”

 

“I’m not drowning!” Lance says indignantly.  “I was trying to drown _you!_ ”

 

Keith just stares.

 

“Listen,” Lance starts, clearly trying to figure a way out of his conversational blunder.  “Most people have already thrown themselves overboard at this point, usually when I start singing about how pretty their eyes are.  Everyone likes eye compliments!  Except you, apparently.   You have terrible taste.  You have a _mullet_ so I must be right.”

 

And Keith stares some more at the naked embodiment of foot-in-mouth.  He twists the rope between his hands.

 

“Not that you _literally_ have terrible taste,” Lance says as an afterthought. “You have figurative bad taste.  We just drown people, not _eat_ them — well, I don't, not even if it's their kink. _Literally_ eat them, I mean, I could possibly be convinced to eat _ow_ !”  There's an inhuman shriek as he dives under the water to avoid being hit by Keith's creative use of the life preserver again.  He emerges a few seconds later.  “Stop _throwing_ things at me!”

 

“You're a fucking singing naked man treading in the goddamn ass end of the ocean and you _tried to drown me_!” Keith screeches, tossing his composure to the wind because the situation demands it.  “I'll throw all the shit I want!”

 

“How about…”  Lance steeples his fingers and lifts an eyebrow.  “... you don't?”

 

“How about you shut the fuck up before I throw my _knife,_ ” Keith replies blandly.

 

Lance flings his arms up in the air, having the gall to look exasperated after admitting he was _planning murder_.  “Well I can't just let you _leave_ ,” he grumbles.  “That's the whole point of the drowning thing — it’s effective at keeping people from leaving.”

 

“I imagine it is.”  Keith reels the life preserver back in, almost tempted to chuck it one last time at Lance’s head.  The only reason he doesn't is to avoid the inevitable shrieking that would surely follow.  “Too bad I'm leaving anyways.”

 

“You can't!”

 

“What are you going to do, sing at me again?” Keith asks dryly. “That worked _so_ well the first time.”

 

Lance folds his arms, grinning smugly.  “No, I really did mean you can’t leave.  There should be magic keeping your ship from working properly.”

 

“Of course.”  Keith pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Of course there’s fucking _magic_.  This isn’t funny any more.  I’m starting to wish I actually drowned now.”

 

“Does this mean you’re gonna hop in?” Lance asks brightly, looking _way too excited_ about the prospect of somebody dying right in front of him.

 

“No.”

 

“You _tease_.”

 

“Says the one who’s buckass naked.”

 

Lance opens, then closes his mouth.  He seemingly collects himself enough to say, “But is it _really_ teasing if I’m not hiding anything?”

 

Keith grinds his teeth.  “I am not arguing about this.  Undo your magic bullshit so I can go back.”

 

“It’s not _my_ magic bullshit,” Lance says, but he doesn’t elaborate.  “I guess I could show you the way out though, since I’m used to navigating around here.  It’s not like anyone would believe you even if you told them about me.”

 

* * *

 

Iverson stares at Keith flatly, feeling a headache begin to form.  “There was… a naked man.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“In the middle of the ocean.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“... singing.”

 

“Yes.  It was pretty good, actually.”

 

“Kogane, are you fucking with me?”

 

Keith shrugs with infuriating nonchalance.  “I don't know what else to tell you.  That's what I found out there.  Sir.”

 

Iverson sighs almost imperceptibly.  “You were probably hallucinating because a naked singing man in the ocean is a level of bullshit even _you_ wouldn't be able to tell me with a straight face.  Maybe there was something in the air.  Ask Gunderson to give you instruments that check air quality for your next mission.”

 

“... Next mission?”  Keith frowns.

 

“Well Kogane, singing naked men aside, you're still the only person who has come back from Arus without outside help.”  Iverson hands him a tablet, just like the last time Keith was standing in front of his desk.  “I want an _accurate_ report in my inbox by the day after tomorrow.  Gunderson should be in the labs for another few hours.”

 

Keith hides a smile, pretending to listen as Iverson continues talking.   _Pidge is going to find this hilarious_ , he thinks.

 

* * *

 

Pidge does, in fact, find Keith’s story hilarious; she cackles hard enough that her glasses slip down her nose.  “Shit, I wish I was there to see Iverson’s face when you reported seeing a naked man in the middle of the ocean.”

 

“A _singing_ naked man in the middle of the ocean,” Keith corrects, one corner of his mouth betraying his inner amusement.  He doesn’t mention the fact that Lance was trying to drown him.

 

“Well what was he singing about?”

 

 _My eyes._  Keith looks contemplative.  “My nice ass, I think.”  He waits for Pidge to stop laughing before continuing.  “Anyway, Iverson wants you to get me something that analyzes air composition.  He thinks that I might’ve breathed something funny.”

 

“I don't know,” Pidge says in a singsong tone that implies an impending inside joke.  “Maybe you're just thirsty enough to start imagining hot naked singles in your area without the assistance of hallucinogens.”

 

“That's not possible, sorry.”

 

“We can rule that explanation out then,” Pidge says evenly, shrugging as if they both didn’t already know that her theory would be shot down.  “Maybe you were half-asleep and dreaming?”

 

Keith thinks of Lance — obnoxious, ostentatious, otherworldly — and he snorts.  “Probably not.  I don’t think my imagination is capable of inventing somebody with such a… uh, colourful personality.”

 

Pidge grins.  “How bad was the mystery man’s flirting?”

 

“Absolutely atrocious.”

 

“Amazing.”  Pidge drums her fingers on the surface of her desk.  “I’m guessing you don’t have any footage since Iverson doesn’t buy your story.”

 

Keith shakes his head.  “I checked the cameras but there’s nothing recorded, just like with the drones we’ve sent in the past.  They were fine up to a certain point, then they stopped working, then they were okay again when I got far enough away.  I have no idea what’s causing the interference.”

 

Pidge frowns.  “Damn, I was hoping I worked out all the bugs with the drone cameras.  Back to the drawing board for me, I guess.  I’ll equip your ship with more machines tomorrow, I need to finish up this prototype first.  Oh, and one more thing.”  She gives her friend a half-assed salute that would make Iverson cringe.  “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

 

Keith chuckles.  “Same.”

 

* * *

 

(It goes something like this:)

 

“I knew my charming good looks were too irresistible for you to stay away too long,” Lance says, naked as ever and draped across a rock in what is probably supposed to be a seductive pose.

 

It isn't working.  “I'm being paid to be here,” Keith says dryly.  “Why are you even naked?  Doesn't it get cold out here or something.”

 

Lance pouts, obviously disappointed that he isn't as irresistible as he thinks.  “Uh, of course I'm naked?  Makes it easier to do the whole siren seduction shtick?”  He strikes another pose, as ineffective as the last.

 

Keith furrows his eyebrows.  “Siren?  I thought those were bird women, not… naked guys.”

 

“Well…”  Lance sits up with a wicked grin on his face, and then his body _changes_ like a freaky time lapse video of a melting statue from a wax museum.  “Like my new haircut?  You should get one too.”

 

“ _What the fuck_.”

 

“Look mullet man, that's starting to get a bit stale.  You really need new things to say when shocked.”

 

“You've got wings and bird feet and boobs,” Keith points out, rather stupidly in hindsight.

 

“Thanks for noticing, babe.”

 

“So you’re a birdwoman… birdperson now?”

 

“Nope, I'm a _shapeshifter_ ,” Lance says smugly, flapping his wings once before changing back to his first form.  “Every Altean can change their appearance, but Coran says I'm _extra_ good at it.”  He seems very proud of this fact, judging by the wide shit-eating grin on his face.

 

This is too much information to process in the span of five minutes, tops, so Keith files it away in the section of his mind reserved for cryptids.  “Not good enough to seduce me, apparently.”  He stifles a laugh at Lance’s offended gasp.

 

“You.  Have.  _Bad_. _Taste_.” Each word is punctuated by an accusatory finger jab; they only make the situation funnier.  “I said it before but this is definitely more evidence.  Why else would you not be hungry for a piece of _this_?”

 

Keith snorts.  “Okay, first of all, that makes it sound like you're a pizza.  Secondly, I'm busy being literally hungry, so if you could turn into a nice big pot of mac and cheese, I might consider it.”

 

“I can’t turn into _food_ ,” Lance whines.

 

“Then I don't want ‘a piece of this’,” Keith says, shrugging.

 

Lance groans and dramatically flings himself into the water in a fit of pique.

 

(Like this:)

 

“So, mullethead —”

 

“Would you stop calling me that?  You know I have a _name_ , right?”

  
  
“Actually, I _don’t_ know and I was about to ask, because you never introduced yourself.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“... Well?  What is it?  You can tell me _any_ moment now, or else I’m just going to call you mullet-related names for the rest of your li—”

 

“Holy _shit_ , calm down... I’m Keith.”

 

“Hm...”

 

“What.”

 

“Your name…”

 

“ _What_.”

 

“Feels good; feels organic.”

 

“... Did you just —”

 

(Then like this:)

 

“Do you like my singing, at least?”

 

 _Your voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life_.  “It’s alright,” Keith says as nonchalantly as he can.  Sometimes, Lance’s first song still haunts him; he’s not sure he wants the siren to know, because he feels like it would cost him something unknown.

 

“Oh.”  There’s a small crease on Lance’s forehead where there usually isn’t one.  His long fingers pluck at the cloth loosely wrapped around his body, and the bluish markings curling across his brown skin glow faintly through the sheer fabric.  “Just ‘alright’?” he murmurs, voice quiet as if he didn’t mean to say the words out loud.

 

Something makes Keith clears his throat awkwardly.  “I might be wrong…” he says slowly.  It’s the closest thing to an olive branch that he can manage, so he’s relieved when Lance takes it.

 

“Of course you are.”  Lance winks, confidence surging back with admirable and alarming speed.  “I’m the _best_ singer in Altea.”

 

Keith rolls his eyes, but he smiles when Lance sings anyway.

 

(And like this:)

 

“Oh my God — Lance, _stop laughing —_ ”

 

“You should’ve seen your _face_!”

 

“I can’t _believe_ you fucking _rickrolled me_.”

 

“You have to admit it was clever! ‘Never gonna give you up~ never gonna let you drown~ never gonna swim around and shipwreck you~’”

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

“Babe no, come back —”

 

(And this:)

 

“Do you want to know why?” Lance asks, face unusually pensive.

 

 _Or maybe it’s not that unusual_ , Keith thinks, _and I just don't see him often enough to notice._  Something about that thought makes him uneasy; he pushes the feeling aside for later examination.  They were talking about the magic ‘barrier’ surrounding Arus, but he can’t figure out what Lance is talking about now.  “‘Know why’...?”

 

“Why we chase ships away from here.”

 

Hearing the word ‘away’ suddenly makes a part of Keith burn angrily.  It's such a mild word that doesn't properly describe the feeling of his heart being torn asunder years ago.  ‘Away’, as if there’s a chance of Shiro’s absence being temporary.  He holds his tongue and nods stiffly.

 

Lance seems oblivious to Keith’s sour mood.  “I'm guessing humans came to investigate the islands?”

 

“Yes.”  Arus appeared as if overnight, to the world's confusion and astonishment.  “We had no idea where they came from and we couldn't get a good look at them from satellites or aircraft because of all the fog.”

 

“This place is named Altea,” Lance explains.  His long iridescent tail swishes behind him, making gentle ripples in the water; he decided to be a merman today.  “My people have lived here for thousands of years.”  He frowns.  “The Head Druid is in charge of maintaining the illusion that hides Altea, but she betrayed us.”

 

“Oh.”  Keith doesn’t know what to say about that; comforting sirens about traitors to their homeland isn’t in the Garrison training manual either.  “Is that why we can see it now?”

 

“Yeah, it was pretty recent.”  Lance looks thoughtful.  “A few years ago, I think?  It was a bad time — the Sovereign back then was killed by his friend, then most of the druids joined the defecting side and called themselves the Galra, and uh.  It was… a mess.  A very big mess.”  

 

Keith winces and adds ‘attempted coup d’états’ to the list of things he is ill-equipped to deal with.  

 

Lance laughs awkwardly.  “It’s uh, better now though.  The current Sovereign is my friend Allura!  She’s great.  And she’s got Coran — he’s the Royal Advisor — um, she’s got Coran to help her out, so Altea’s pretty stable nowadays.  We just want to keep the humans away because we can’t really defend ourselves against any large invasions, y’know?  It’s easier to stay hidden.”

 

“I can only delay the Garrison for so long,” Keith points out, thinking of Iverson’s mounting impatience with his lack of satisfying research.

 

It’s Lance’s turn to wince.  “We’re not sure if the Galra will come back either.  So I guess everything is still a bit of a mess.”

 

“Well, it’s not a permanent solution... but I could bring my friend here?”  Keith folds his arms to keep from picking at his nails nervously.  “She’s the one who designed most of the tech on this ship.  Maybe if she makes up some convincing data, we can trick the Garrison for a bit longer.”  He holds back a sigh of relief when his suggestion is met with a thoughtful stare instead of hostility.

 

Lance grins brightly.  “I’ll have to ask Allura for permission, but your plan sounds good!  And I know a guy that your friend might get along with.  Would you say she’s ‘a big nerd’?”

 

(And this:)

 

“Why am I always the one singing?”

 

“... Is… that a rhetorical question?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Oh. Uh… because I’m not a siren?”

 

“Pff that’s a whaleshit excuse — anyone can sing!  C’mon, sing something with me.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Don’t be a spoilsp— wait, you _agreed_?!”

 

“If you didn’t think I’d agree then why did you even ask in the first place?!”

 

“Because I’m polite? Wait, wait wait wait hang on — what songs do you know —”

 

(And this:)

 

“Did you think they’d get along so well?” Lance whispers, leaning towards Keith so their friends can’t hear him.

 

Keith tries not to think about how close they’re sitting together, perched on the railing with their feet dangling above the water.  “Not _this_ well,” he admits, glancing over his shoulder to the ship’s stern where Pidge is talking animatedly with Lance’s best friend Hunk.  

 

“That’s not going to work,” Hunk says, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth.  He’s scribbling calculations in Pidge’s green notebook with the plastic alien pen she got from Keith for her birthday.  “I mean, the concept is good, but you need to account for all the interference from the Balmeran crystals, so your equation is wrong.”

 

Pidge grumbles.  “Cut me some slack here man, I learned about all this magic bullshit from Keith like a week ago.”

 

“Well you’re the first human to get this far at all, so I’d be damn proud of that fact if I were you.”

 

“Oh believe me, I’m pretty smug about it.”

 

Hunk laughs and returns Pidge’s notebook and pen.  “I’m guessing you won’t want any clues until you have your next set of calculations done.”

 

“Nah.”  Pidge reads Hunk’s corrections eagerly.  “I want to try doing it myself.”

 

“Bro, should you really be encouraging her?” Lance says, raising an eyebrow.  “If she figures out how the particle barrier works, Allura and Coran aren’t going to be very happy about it.”

 

“Pidge isn’t going to tell anyone else about it,” Keith says confidently.

 

“Of course not.”  Pidge beams excitedly; she hasn’t looked this happy in years.  “This is _way_ too much fun!  Think of all the things I could learn without the Garrison’s supervision!”

 

Keith snorts.  “What a rebel.  So you’ll help me fake data for my reports, right?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

(And this:)

 

“Hey, so, um… it’d be cool if you met my family some day, I think they’d like you.  I could take you on a tour of Altea too!”

 

“Are you trying to drown me again?”

 

“ _Rude_.  Invitation revoked _._ ”

 

(And...)

 

Talking with Lance becomes as simple as breathing.  Somehow the siren gleefully worms his way into Keith’s life and latches on like… like some sort of meme-loving remora.  It’s liberating, in a way, to just bicker about whatever nonsense they disagree on.  No pitying looks, no careful and slow words, no treating him like he’s a wild animal about to snap when backed into a corner with no way out.  

 

Keith remembers that he’s barely in his twenties and wonders when he started feeling so very old.

 

“You're not even listening to me right now,” Lance says from his rock, pouting childishly.  “Here I am, giving you the full siren song experience, and you're off in your own head-world thinking about your mullet.”

 

“It's not a mullet,” Keith says automatically, scowling slightly and resisting the urge to fidget with his hair.  “And I wasn't thinking about it.  You're the one who has an unhealthy fixation with my hair.”

 

Lance blows a raspberry.  “Naaaahhh, if I was really obsessed with it, I'd write a song.”  He pauses.  “Actually —”

 

“You are not going to write a song about my fucking hair.”

 

“But I thought of a good one!”  Lance grins before singing, “Mullet man~ take me by the hand~ lead me to the land that —”

 

“'Ocean Man'.”  Keith stares at Lance flatly.  “Really.”

 

“Well I'm not going to put in actual effort composing an epic ballad for that travesty of a hairstyle,” Lance says, flapping his hands dismissively.  “It's not like it'd work as a siren song anyway unless you had some weird mullet fetish you haven't told me about.”

 

“Definitely not,” Keith says dryly.  “But memes are my secret kink.”

 

“Really?!”

 

“No.”

 

Call: “You _tease_.”

 

And response: “Says the one who’s buckass naked.”

 

It’s fun and familiar and friendly and fond; they grin at each other so widely that their cheeks become sore, and then laugh at themselves.

 

(Keith doesn't want to admit it, but he likes whatever ‘this’ is.)

 

* * *

 

It's not until much later — one morning as he's brushing his teeth, of all things — that Keith realizes he thinks about Lance more than he grieves for Shiro nowadays.

 

* * *

 

“You look pretty happy today.”

 

Keith blinks.  “I do?”  He isn’t sure how Pidge can tell, considering she didn’t even look up from her computer when he walked into the lab.

 

“Don’t have to sound so confused, it’s just… nice, y’know?”  Pidge hesitates.  “I think he’s been good for you, in a way I can’t be.”  She doesn’t say it out loud, but they both know what she means: that the two of them are close friends who would die for the other in a heartbeat, but there’s always this lingering sense of shared loss that resurfaces when they look at each other.  

 

They never talk about _The Cerberus_ any more; they never forget about it either.

 

“I… yeah.  Yeah, he is.”  Keith smiles faintly.  “I think I like him a lot.”

 

“I figured that out when you actually laughed at his shitty puns.”

 

“They’re not _that_ bad.”  Keith pauses.  “No, you’re right, they’re pretty bad.”  He ignores Pidge’s short bark of laughter and moves closer to her desk.  “What are you working on lately?  Something to shock and awe more Alteans?  I think Coran’s moustache was going to pop right off his face when you replicated the particle barrier.”

 

Pidge’s shoulders tense.  “No, it’s… it’s something else I started working on a while ago.”

 

Keith’s smile starts fading.  “What?”

 

“Look,” Pidge starts, and Keith immediately knows he won’t like what she’s about to say, “the Alteans are _really nice_ , right?  I like all of the people we’ve met so far.  A lot.  Even Allura is pretty awesome, and she’s their Sovereign?  And…”  She can’t look him in the eye.  “I just… I used to think that they’re gone.”

 

“Pidge,” Keith says quietly.  He knows who she’s talking about, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

 

“No, I have to — we never —”  Pidge wrings her hands in frustration.  “It took a long time, for me, okay?  I kept looking, I didn’t tell you, but I never stopped looking until you went there yourself.  I knew you’d say _something_ if you saw any signs, but all you found was Lance, and I just… I couldn’t make you look for them.  I couldn’t make you dig up ghosts because I wasn’t able to let go.  So I started accepting that dad and Matt and Shiro are gone, okay?  But now we know about Altea and the people who live there and I just — I _can’t_ accept that _our friends_ killed our families —”

 

“ _Pidge_ , please stop,” Keith interrupts, but the damage is already done; the doubt he has been pushing down for weeks floats up to the surface like a bloated corpse.  He thinks of Lance dragging Shiro into the ocean’s depths and feels like he’s drowning too.

 

“I’m sorry,” Pidge whispers.  “I just… I started thinking that maybe they’re not dead after all.”  She jerks back in surprise when Keith abruptly wheels around.  “Wait, where are you —”

 

Keith storms out of the lab, a single question seared into his mind like a brand.

 

* * *

 

“What happened to my brother’s ship?” Keith asks past gritted teeth.  “The first one to ever come here after humans noticed Altea.”

 

Lance looks startled.  “Keith, what’s this all about? Are you okay?”

 

“What. Happened to it?”

 

“How should I know?” Lance snaps, shoulders rising defensively.  “Do you think I sank it?”  His eyes widen when Keith doesn’t answer.  “Wait… you do?”

 

“You tried to drown me when we first met,” Keith says hotly, clenching his fists hard enough that his fingernails dig painfully into his palms.  “Forgive me for not having the best impression of you right now.”

 

“‘Best impression’ —”  Lance’s markings flare brightly for a brief moment before going back to their dull glow.  “Are you kidding me?  We’ve known each other for months and you still think I’d actually kill somebody who didn’t deserve it?”

 

“So you’d kill somebody you thought _did_ deserve it?” Keith snarls.

 

Lance is silent.

 

“Just _tell_ me.”  Keith’s voice is ragged and desperate and he doesn’t care any more.  He’s finally so _close_.  “It’s been years and Pidge and I still know _nothing_.  I want some fucking closure, Lance, that’s all I _need —_ ”

 

“It wasn’t us!” Lance gasps.  “It wasn’t us, it was the Galra.  The traitors that left Altea after assassinating Alfor.  We didn’t know there was a ship coming and by the time we found out it was too late.  The Galra captured the ship and I don’t know what happened to it after.”  He looks at Keith’s face and his own crumples with sadness.  “I’m so sorry... none of us know.”

 

Keith sags against the railing.  “It’s not your fault,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have confronted you about it.”

 

Lance slowly pulls Keith into a gentle hug.  “It’s okay, I’d probably do the same.”

 

They sit together quietly until Keith goes back to the Garrison.

 

* * *

 

The next time Keith goes to Arus, there’s a stranger there waiting for him.  

 

“You must be Keith!  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

Keith shifts uncomfortably on his feet.  “Where’s Lance?”

 

“Nice to meet you! I’m Nyma, thanks for asking.”

 

“I have to tell him something directly,” Keith says, pointedly ignoring Nyma’s sarcasm; he doesn’t have time for it with his guilty conscience urging him to apologize to Lance properly.  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

 

“Last I checked, he and Hunk were on their way back to Altea.”  Nyma shrugs.  “He told me to tell _you_ he’s going to be late because something unexpected happened.”  She crosses her long legs daintily.  “So!  Tell me about yourself, Keith.  I’ve wanted to meet the man immune to Lance’s siren song for _months_.”

 

Keith frowns.  “I thought you heard a lot about me already,” he says carefully, “so I’m not sure what there is left to tell you.”

 

Nyma laughs.  “I can’t _believe_ he hasn’t figured you out yet.”

 

“What?”

 

“Lance is an idiot,” Nyma continues, rolling her eyes.  She smoothly pushes her blonde hair out of the way, turning to face Keith.  “He’s not stupid, but he’s an idiot because he’s stubborn.  For someone who can be so creative he doesn’t have much of a repertoire.  He keeps singing the same tune even though it doesn’t work.  It’s a good tune, yes — but it’s not what _you_ want.”

 

And suddenly, something about her sharpens dangerously.

 

"I don't want anything," Keith says stiffly, what he really means lurking unspoken beneath the surface: _I don’t want anything any more_ , _I think I’m incapable of wanting, I’m not allowed to want, because I can’t remember how it should feel_.

 

Nyma smiles, teeth sharp and bright behind delicately curving lips. "Oh sweetheart... everyone wants something, whether they know it or not.”  She looks directly at Keith with unblinking, calculating eyes.  “You don’t look like the type who wants power or fame.  You’re out here alone doing the Garrison’s dirty work, after all — in _such_ a fancy borrowed thing, without ever boasting about it.” She slowly runs her three-fingered hands along Keith’s ship, still holding eye contact.  “Maybe it’s not something you want, but some _one_.  A lover?  A friend?” Her smile widens. “Family?”

 

 _Shiro_ , Keith thinks helplessly, and his breath hitches without his permission.

 

“Ah... you’ve lost someone, haven’t you?” Nyma says slowly, either unknowing or uncaring that the words are like knives to Keith’s heart.  “But you’re too clever to fall for promises of them coming back.”  She’s still staring, staring, staring, as she continues: “You’re used to people leaving and never returning, aren’t you?  People like you always have this look about them — like the world will sink beneath their feet at any moment, once they stop moving for too long.”

 

Keith knows what Nyma’s eyes remind him of now: the deceptive stillness of a predator waiting for the perfect moment to devour its prey.  Her hand is tracing lazy circles on the surface of the ocean; his eyes follow, and he thinks of sharks and buzzards in the cheesy movies he first watched with his best friend and then alone.  “That’s — I’m not like that,” he says feebly, the lie falling apart once it passes his lips.  His hands tremble from his white-knuckled grip on the railing.  

 

Nyma giggles, a chime-like sound that is incongruously innocent.  “Whatever you say.  I could be wrong, it happens.”  She isn’t; they both know it.  “So... maybe you don’t want someone in particular, but you miss what you used to have.  What you used to feel.  Or maybe,” she says slowly, “it’s something that you never had at all.”  Her eyes glow faintly as her face splits into a wide smile, because she _knows_.  “You want a home.”

 

Predator, prey; claws and teeth ripping apart vulnerable flesh and exposing things that should never see the light of day.  Keith feels his secrets bleeding out of him.

 

“Poor Keith, so very lonely.  Did you come out here to run away from it all?”  Nyma’s voice feels as if it’s twining snakelike around Keith’s torso, and he finds it difficult to breathe.  “Did talking to Lance make you forget that there was nothing waiting for you?   But then you wonder if you’re just a toy to him — a novelty, something new and cute, because his song doesn’t work on you.”  Her eyes glint with a cool violet light.  “You worry that he’ll get bored of you and toss you away.  You worry that one day he’ll be taken away from you.  You worry that you’ll never find a home anywhere.”

 

“ _Stop_.”  Keith feels like a fraying rope, threads slowly snapping as he’s stretched too far.  

 

Nyma looks at him, face softening.  “I’m sorry...  It’s really hard, isn’t it?  Having nobody.  I know how it feels.”  She reaches up and brushes her fingers against his wrist comfortingly.  “I was lonely too, until I found Altea.”

 

“You were?”  Keith unconsciously leans into the touch.  

 

“Yes.”  Nyma smiles sadly.  “Did you know that some sirens were once human?  I was like you, centuries ago.  They threw me into the ocean during a storm because they didn’t want me, so then I drowned somewhere near here.  I don’t think anyone came to look for me.”

 

Keith aches in sympathy.  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and he is; nobody deserves to feel unwanted and worthless.

 

“It’s alright now,” Nyma says reassuringly.  “I have Altea.  They saved me.  The druids turned me into a siren so I could keep living.  I have a home now.”  She tilts her head, looking thoughtful and considerate.  “I’m sure they’d let you stay with us too.”

 

“Really?”  Keith’s heart races.  “You’d — you’d let me —”

 

“Yes.”  Nyma’s smile is radiant like sunlight and just as warm.  “We can be your family, Keith.  You could stay with Lance forever.”  She holds her hand towards Keith, inviting him to meet her halfway.  “Just trust me.”

 

Keith reaches forward and —

 

A piercing high note lances the fog surrounding the ship and Keith's mind; he falls back onto the deck and into himself, trying to remember how to breathe.   He barely hears the heated conversation in the water over the roaring in his ears.

 

(Static. Like the broken radio, though it wasn't broken before it played the news.)

 

_— just playing around — saw him Nyma — leaning over the — how could you — a point — stubborn cowards — why did — know how I feel — because of that — could've died —_

 

 _I almost jumped in_ , Keith thinks, dazed. _I almost died._ It doesn't bother him very much, which is why he panics and drags himself towards the bridge with shaking limbs.  There was something wrong and he realized too late, like the first time he sailed to Arus.  Always too late.

 

“Keith!”  Lance sounds far away, which makes him easier to ignore.  “Wait!  I need to tell you something, don't go —”

 

 _It hurts a little less when you make the first move_ , Keith tells himself as he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Nyma was right, because this is all Keith ever wanted: a home to go back to, after so many years of drifting from foster family to foster family; something resembling permanence when all he knows is change.  He is tired of moving in, tired of moving out, tired of moving on.  There’s a bone-deep yearning for somewhere he can just _stay_ , with people who welcome and love him for who he is.  He aches for a place where he belongs, somewhere he doesn’t have to carve out a space for himself because there’s already one made for him to fill.

 

Shiro was a home, or at least synonymous with the idea of it.  He was always honest and sincere, which made it easy to trust him and everything he promised. “It’ll only take two months,” he said before boarding _The Cerberus_ , ruffling Keith’s hair with a fond smile on his face.  “I’ll be home before you know it.”

 

He never came back.

 

* * *

 

“You're running away,” Pidge says without preamble.

 

Keith doesn't look at her.  “I know.”  The tattered sofa of his apartment dips and creaks, and something brushes against his elbow; he glances to his side to see Pidge sitting next to him, then his gaze shifts back to the floor. He knows it’s deliberate that she’s so close, because the sofa was always meant to be large enough for two.

 

She's silent for a moment before asking, “Are you scared?”

 

 _With Lance at the helm?_ “Terrified,” Keith admits, fists clenched at his sides.  “I feel like… like I'm about to sink unless I stay away.  I can't control my feelings at all around him.”

 

“But _why_?  Do you _have_ to?”  

 

“Yes! I do!”

 

Pidge elbows Keith sharply in the gut.

 

“ _Ow!_ What the fuck —”

 

“You’re allowed to be happy, dumbass!” Pidge elbows him again, though not as hard as before.  “I get it!  It’s hard to be happy when you’re feeling guilty.  It feels like you don’t deserve good things.  Well you _do_ , okay?  You deserve to be happy so stop punishing yourself and Lance for something that isn’t your fault.”  She crosses her arms and slides a bit down the sofa.  “... Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

 

“Your elbows are _pointy_ ,” Keith mumbles, rubbing his stomach self-consciously.  Pidge isn’t good at this but neither is he, and at some point people just have to work with what they’ve got.  “... Would Shiro be mad at me?”

 

Pidge sighs.  “You already know the answer to that.  He’s always wanted you to be happy.”  She pushes her glasses up her nose and looks at Keith, frowning stubbornly.  “Stop moping in your apartment — this isn’t where you want to be right now.  Or am I wrong?”

 

“No, you’re not.”  And Keith gets up.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a storm near Arus by the time Keith arrives; he hopes he lives long enough to thank Pidge for perfecting the ship’s navigation system because he can’t see jackshit past all the rain and fog.  Once he gets close to his usual place, he drops the anchors and leaves the bridge to stand on the deck.  “Lance!”  The wind whips his hair into his face and swallows his voice.  “ _Lance!_ ”  He keeps trying and trying until the siren finally appears.

 

“Why the fuck are you here?!”  Lance is a barely-visible shape in the waves.  “It’s dangerous to be out at sea right now you idiot, your ship is _tiny_ and it’s going to sink —”

 

“I’m sorry!” Keith shouts, cutting Lance off before he loses his courage.  “I’m sorry for leaving!  I’m sorry I was angry at you about Shiro!”  His voice cracks.  “It wasn’t your fault!  I was an idiot and I’m sorry!”

 

“You _are_ an idiot!” Lance shouts back, markings flaring brightly.  “I was worried sick about you and you just _left_ and I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!  Then you come back in the middle of this weather shitfiesta like an even _bigger_ idiot!  Are you trying to die?!”

 

“I’m not mcfucking dying!”

 

“Did you just — _no,_ you’re not distracting me!”  Lance splashes at Keith angrily, and it’s ridiculous and utterly pointless because they’re both soaked to the bone already by the storm and sea spray.  “You almost _died!_ I didn’t think Nyma would try to _drown_ you and then you!  Just!   _Left!_ ”  More futile splashing.  “I thought you hated me!  You fucking shithead!”

 

Keith splutters when saltwater gets into his mouth.  “But you saved me so it’s okay!”

 

“It’s _not_ okay!” Lance shrieks indignantly.  “How could _almost dying_ be okay?!”

 

“Lance!”  Keith pushes his dripping hair out of his face.  “It’s _fine_.  Really!  I learned something important from it!”

 

“You _left_!”  Lance’s nose scrunches up and his mouth twists; it’s hard to tell if he’s crying because of all the rain.  “I had to tell you something _really important_ and you left!  And I don’t know where you live!  I found out what happened to Shiro and I was worried you’d never know —”

 

Keith chokes on nothing.  “What?!  What did —”

 

“Your brother is named Shirogane Takashi but you and his friends call him Shiro!” All the sound in the world falls away except for Lance’s voice.  “Pidge has a brother too that looks just like her but taller and his name is Matt!  Sam is their father and he really likes genetically modified vegetables!”

 

“How do you know this?”  Keith’s heart is thumping wildly in his chest, each beat hoping and hoping and —

 

“They’re alive!”  Lance looks objectively terrible, face blotchy and dark hair plastered to his forehead and snot coming out his nose, but he’s the most beautiful person that Keith has ever seen in his life.  “Hunk and I found them with the Galra!  They’re not okay yet but they’re alive and we’re taking care of them in Altea and _you left_ before I could tell you!”  He takes a look at Keith’s face and flails his arms frantically.  “No no _no_ _don’t cry_ — shit!  I’m crying again!  This is your fault!  I hate you!”

 

Keith starts laughing so hard he can barely stand upright.  “Who’s the idiot now!” he shouts.  Shiro and Matt and Sam are alive because Lance and Hunk saved them.  His throat feels as raw as his emotions but he doesn’t care because _Shiro is alive_.  “How did you even find them?!”

 

Even with all the rain, it’s easy to see that Lance is embarrassed.  “I’ve been looking for a while, okay?  You said you needed closure!  I just — I wanted to do something nice for you because — because —”

 

“Because what?” Keith’s heart leaps wildly because he thinks he knows the answer, but he wants to hear it out loud just to be sure.

 

Lance’s face glows a bright blue.  “You’re just making fun of me now!  Well guess what mullethead?!  I’m not saying it!   You can’t make —”

 

Keith throws himself overboard.

 

It’s worth it when Lance drags him out of the ocean and back onto the ship, screeching loudly the entire way up.  

 

“You’re a terrible siren,” Keith wheezes once he has the air to do so.  His arms are wrapped around Lance and he never wants to let go.  “I thought you wanted to drown me.”

 

“I didn’t think you’d actually jump in any more!”  Lance looks ready to slap Keith back to his senses.  “Why did you do that you _fucking idiot_!  Do you see this storm going on?  Do you, Keith?  Are you trying to reenact _The Titanic_?  Because guess what!  Jack _dies_ , you seaweed brain — _he dies_!  Of all the stupid shit you’ve pulled recently this really takes the fish you _soggy asshole_.”

 

“Well I wanted to know if the person I liked the most also liked me back enough to keep me from dying.”

 

Lance shakes Keith by the collar of his soaked Garrison uniform.  “Most people just _say_ they love someone!  Don’t fucking _jump_ into the ocean!  Why are you so dramatic?!

 

“ _You’re_ accusing _me_ of being dramatic, that’s rich.”

 

“Oh, _ha ha_.  You want to fucking _go —_ ”

 

“— out with you?”  Keith grins.  “Yes.”

 

Lance makes a strangled noise and shoves his face into Keith’s hair.  “Stop being so _smooth_ you — you — _I’m_ the siren!  I am!  Fuck you!”

 

Helpless laughter bubbles up and spills out of Keith’s mouth.  “No thanks,” he says, gleeful that Lance will finally know the punchline to a months-long private joke.  “I’m asexual.”

 

It takes a beat for Lance to process what Keith says; when it finally clicks, he screeches again.  “Is that why my song wasn’t working?  All this time?!  Holy shit I should’ve fucking figured it out, I’m an _idiot_!  Nyma was right!  I’m an idiot!  I thought you didn’t like me — stop _laughing —_ ”  

 

“I love you, dumbass.”  Keith grins widely.  “Is that better?”

 

“It’s acceptable.”  Lance laughs when Keith knees him in the side.  “Ow!  I love you too.  But I’m still fucking pissed that you almost drowned yourself.  Don’t do that again.”

 

“I won’t.”  Keith is still freezing his ass off in the middle of the ocean on a ship that’s being violently rocked by the wind and waves, but he has an anchor now.  He leans against Lance and closes his eyes, feeling something inside him grow peaceful for the first time in years.  

 

“Stay with me?” Lance asks, hesitant but hopeful and offering a home with his heart.

 

  
Keith’s mouth effortlessly curves into a smile. “Yes.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Additional Notes:**
> 
> 1\. Surprise, this was basically 8000 words of an asexual author spending months to write the longest ace joke set-up ever. You're welcome. [This was me](https://i.gyazo.com/2f40e61a7de559a3d16d31587cc210ff.png) the entire time I was writing. 
> 
> 2\. I can't believe I forgot to link when I first posted this, but I have some art and other things on my tumblr of this AU! You can check it out [here](http://legendarydesvender.tumblr.com/tagged/siren-lance-au).
> 
> 3\. The parenthetical section breaks was inspired by the line 'The story starts like this:' in Sarah's fic ["in stasis"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9301076/chapters/21081683). (Please read it, it's great.)
> 
> 4\. I made a playlist for this fic but I'll post it another time, I'm too tired to upload it somewhere ahaha.
> 
> 5\. Guess which fic has 72 fucking em dashes? This one.
> 
> 6\. Art by Others:  
> \- [Fanart of the ending](https://i.gyazo.com/5bbc3a7a093fc3ab902896b0f43258de.jpg) drawn by my friend [Maddie](http://randumbdaze.tumblr.com/)! I've looked at this for hours now omg.  
> \- My friend [Aether](http://aetherlogic.tumblr.com/) drew [one of her fav scenes](https://twitter.com/aetherlogic/status/844737772703252481) and I feel very Blessed because the facial expressions are amazing.
> 
> Feel free to chat with me on twitter @legdesvender and/or on tumblr @legendarydesvender. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> 20/01/17: Edited some weird formatting issues with extra spaces near italicized text.  
> 19/02/17: Added links to art!  
> 22/03/17: More art!


End file.
